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Show Me Your Kiss Scenes (YA)

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IKnowNotmyName

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So, would you fellow Absolute Writers be willing to share some of the kiss scenes that you have written with me

I'd be more than happy to help, but would you mind telling me a little about your own story first. Like, you know, what's the tone of your novel? The kissing scene I've written is for a romantic comedy, and since it's a comedy the scene itself contains a good deal of humor that might not be suitable for your own story anyways. I would like to give you something that would actually help you.
 

Levico

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Welp, here's mine. Enjoy your non-human romance for the day! :D Woot, fox love!
They sat in silence for a couple minutes before Resyl gestured at Keyla's half-empty glass. "Are you going to finish that?"

She pushed it towards him. "Be my guest."

He took it and drained it of its contents, and then he sighed and set it down. He yawned, showing off his mouth full of canine teeth. "It's late, Kip," he said, standing and stretching. "I'm going to go to bed. Dream well." He ducked out of the tent.

Keyla looked at the tent flap for a moment, thinking. Then she hurried after him, out into the chilly spring air that only felt cool to her. "Wait," she called to his retreating form.

He stopped and looked back, the silver moonlight glinting off of the gold earring he wore. "Aye?"

Emboldened by her drink, Keyla asked, "Did you mean what you said that night when we met the elves?"

"That? Of course I did." He continued walking. "What of it?"

Keyla made an exasperated noise and ran to catch up to him. "What of it? Everything! You can't just tell a girl you love her and then walk away like nothing happened."

"Did I actually tell you that?"

"No, but you implied it."

"And that's good enough for you?"

That made Keyla stop and think for a brief moment. "No, actually," she said. "It's not."

Resyl turned around. "Then allow me to say it properly." His eyes found hers, that beautiful brown. "I did break my oath. I love you, Kip, and I think I always will." He cocked his head a little. "Are you satisfied?"

Keyla rolled her eyes, but her heart sang for joy. "Yes, now that you say it outright."

"Good, then." Resyl turned away. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Keyla moved in front of him, blocking his way. "You're not even going to wait for my response?"

He smiled. "I don't need to hear it. I'll feel the same about you, whatever you tell me."

"You're just scared that I'll turn you away."

He laughed and stepped closer to her. "That won't happen."

Keyla raised an eyebrow. His scent filled her senses, making her aware of nothing else but his presence. "You're assuming a lot," she said quietly. She moved closer to him; she couldn't help it.

"Am I?" Resyl winked, and he stroked her cheek gently. Keyla shivered under his touch. "I know you better than you think."
She smiled back at him. "You've got a streak of courage, I'll say that for you."

"You know it." Resyl leaned forward and kissed her softly. Keyla hesitated for a second, but then she relaxed and closed her eyes. For her, this time, it was for real. She drew Resyl close, pressing up against his chest as he put his arms around her and held her gently. His steady heartbeat reverberated though her fur, and Keyla felt that hers was racing compared to his.

Resyl drew away first and looked tenderly at her face, his soft brown eyes grateful. She also found a trace of sadness in his gaze, and she knew he was remembering another time, a different face. Resyl let go of her, and Keyla allowed her arms to fall to her side, catching at his hands on their way. The sailor nodded, and without another word, he walked off into the night. Keyla was tempted to follow him, but she didn't.

Instead she went back to her tent, her steps and heart as light as a moth's wing.
There are some BEA-utiful pieces on here, I am awed.
~Lev
 

Niiicola

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So, uh, I wrote a pretty messed up kissing scene.

Sam sits up with a start.

"Who's there?" He fumbles under his bed for the baseball bat he keeps there.

"It's me. Elisa."

He pauses. "What are you doing here?"

"I can't get it to stop," I whisper, nudging him over and slipping under his blankets.

"Get what to stop?"

Her.

If I tell him, all my insanity will all be out there in plain sight. And I'm not ready to admit it. I can still hear her whispering in the puddle outside.

"Get what to stop?" he says again.

Her voice scritches at the windopane. Elisapie.

He's sweaty and rumpled and confused and only wearing boxers, and he's warm and his breath smells like sleep. I tug the blankets over both of us to hide it all, and I find his mouth with mine in the stuffy darkness. With a sharp gasp, he pulls back, but I don't let him go, I find his mouth again and it's wrong, so awfully wrong, but he's real and right now I need everything to be real.

I reach for his hand, which is balled into a fist, and put it on my waist, under my t-shirt. He's fluttery underneath me, his heart thumping against his ribs, and I worry I'm going to crush him.

"Kiss me back," I whisper.

Something in him snaps like a rubber band and he yanks me toward him. Our teeth clack together and it hurts, it should hurt what we're doing, I deserve to break all my teeth for what I'm doing right now. I pull back, tug off my shirt, and he's breathing hard and staring up at me with something like fear and something like awe.
 

lindz

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So good Niiicola! I absolutely love it. Damn, makes me want to read more. Haha.
 

Emmet Cameron

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Well, their first kiss goes like this:

There she is lying on top of her covers with me standing between the beds, both of us laughing and feeling awful and she gestures for me to come closer and lower until I’m on my knees beside her propped up on her elbow making a face I’m about to understand and and and
I honestly don’t know who kisses who.
The thing is, it doesn’t feel like something anybody does. More like something that happens. Like an old lady falling down on a city bus. Like a dandelion taking root in a sidewalk crack.
I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t stop it. But it would be worse to say I thought to try.

And their last kiss (which is actually the first in the book) goes like this:

I lean over Goss, my forearms pressed against the bricks. In all our doing, I’ve never done anything like this. Never in the hallway under the bright helpful fluorescents with one soggy sock and such plain, ugly desperation.
The stair door creaks, and the footsteps continue down our hallway. Goss pulls her face back, but there isn’t time to put enough space between our lips to get away with this.
 

casualrungal

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So, uh, I wrote a pretty messed up kissing scene.

I think this is great! Even from such a little snippet, I really got a sense of the character's voice. I'm also intrigued by the voice in her head.
 

Niiicola

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Yay! After I posted that I had a moment of "oh no, what did I just share with the world?" so I'm glad you guys liked it.
 

scifi_boy2002

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My wife and I went round and round over a kissing scene in my second novel. It is a science fiction novel dealing with time travel where one of the mcs meets and eventually falls in love with a girl from the past. It is during the Revolutionary War and the mc can't tell her he's from the future, but they fall deeply in love with each other. The mc, his name is Spider, tries to kiss the girl, Sarah, several times prior to the actual kiss scene. I wanted to prolong the kiss and show the precise moment of the kiss. I simple wrote "they kissed", but my wife did not like that. She said that I should not say that they kiss, but show it. Normally I would agree that showing is better than telling, but my point was that I wanted to show the exact moment of the kiss. They did not kiss a second before, or a second afterward. The kiss was at this very moment here. The kiss was an event. I ended up not using "they kissed", but my wife still did not understand why I had to "tell" the moment of the kiss. Here is the scene. I am currently reworking the whole novel so consider this a rough draft. In the scene, Sarah has just fallen and Spider rushes to her.


"Are you ok?" Spider asked.
"I think so," she said as she rose further. "I don’t think anything is..." She looked into Spider’s eyes. He was holding her in his arms and was looking into her eyes, too. She moved her head closer to his and he held her even tighter. She moved even closer. He tried to resist, but could not. She placed her lips near his.
Their lips touched.

I don't claim to be a romance writer, but my wife wanted me to add some romance to a story, so I added it to this novel. I'm more of a sci-fi adventure writer. It did give my story an extra dimension. Maybe my wife is right.
 
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jr0127

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I stole her lips back from Sawyer, a breath at a time, a touch at a time, ‘til she let herself fall away with me again. Her hands scaled my t-shirt, slipped around my neck, and she pulled me to her hard enough for our rib cages to collide. I couldn’t breathe. She kissed me like it hurt, like her lips and tongue were too hungry—too desperate, too starved like I couldn’t give her enough. I'd never given her enough.


:)
 

AllisonBerry

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This is mine. I like the idea that less is more, too.


“What?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t believe me?”
This time there’s not a doubt lingering in my mind. “I believed every word.” I smile. “No lies. Not one. In fact, you couldn’t have told one even if you wanted to.”
“What can I say?” He grins, shaking his head. “I’ve been told I’m an awful liar.”
And then I close my eyes and wait for the gentle touch of his lips against mine, tuning out reality and fantasy and the very blurry line that rests in between.
 

Emmet Cameron

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I think this is great! Even from such a little snippet, I really got a sense of the character's voice. I'm also intrigued by the voice in her head.

Thanks! The narration is kind of directed to that lovely invisible audience teenagers tend to haul around with them, with a seat up front reserved for Jesus. At least that's what it is in my head. I never explicity spell it out, although that may change in the next draft. Anyway, it does make kissing scenes feel a touch less private...
 

J.Emerson

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Here's a snippet. I tend towards the more descriptive side (in everything, pretty much). But I try not to get too gross and sloppy. Experiencing a gross sloppy kiss is just about as bad as reading one :)

[FONT=&quot]“Ye’re no’ afraid of anything," Brenden told her quietly. "Ye doona hesitate over the possibilities. Ye act. ‘Tis who ye are. Kiss me. Doona think. Just do it.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]He was right. Hesitating wasn’t in her nature. And while it meant she made mistakes, she never regretted what could have been. The chances lost that could never be duplicated. It was the best and worst part of her.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]So she did it. Not because she believed that everything would turn out for the best. She did it because she knew odds were it’d be her last chance. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]At first when she touched his mouth, he did nothing, waiting. So she parted his lips with her own, taking in his breath before touching the tip of her tongue to his, then pulling back slightly to nip his lower lip, pulling it gently before releasing it. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The taste of his mouth was cool and sweet, a special aphrodisiac created just for her. She brushed his lips, tracing their shape, memorizing where they swelled and thinned, memorizing the way they fit against her mouth so perfectly. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]She kissed him again, setting her mouth over his before opening it wide in invitation, allowing something of herself to cross between them with the gesture, something that had her heart pounding in anticipation. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Even when he was holding back there was still more to kissing him than had ever been in any kiss before him. Hell, before him, she hadn’t even realized kissing could be like this. Not just a prelude to sex, but a whole conversation in and of itself, shared between two people who wanted one another, in so many ways more than the physical. It was a way of saying something words could never come close to conveying. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Then he was kissing her back, and all thoughts of pain and fear vanished. The only thing she knew was the urgency of his mouth against hers, the way his breath caught, the way his tongue hungrily sought hers, needing the contact, needing it almost as much as the oxygen in his own lungs. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Brenden shuddered. “Do ye feel that?” [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Sabrina gasped for air, holding on to him for dear life. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. “Is it real?”[/FONT]
 

thedark

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I cheerfully realize I'm four months late to this thread, but it's too fun not to contribute. :)

The narrator, Kay, is a young captive who has been alone in a concrete cell for 61 days with only her interrogator, Derek, for company. Beautiful, manipulative bastard.

The beep suddenly sounds and I scramble against the back wall out of habit. He never comes during the day.

Derek enters with a large duffle bag, and he tosses it to the ground as soon as he clears the door. He’s tense and his eyes are dark.

I ask, “What’s going on?”

“I have to go. Four, maybe five days.”

My stomach lurches. Go? Where?

Derek closes the distance between us until he’s just inches away. “Kay, do you trust me?” His voice is low, like a predator’s growl.

I nod, my chest frozen.

Derek’s fingers tighten around my neck and he pushes me back against the wall. He leans in; his lips against my ear. He says, “Bauer will come, and when he does, you tell him nothing.”

Shit.

Derek’s grip intensifies. I nod. I’ll say nothing.

Raising his wrist, Derek tilts my chin upwards until my eyes meet his. He stares into me, and suddenly his lips press against mine. His tongue plunges into my mouth--a bolt of white fire spreads through my chest. I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

And just as swiftly, he releases me and steps back.

“Be careful,” he says, then he’s gone.

My god . . . .

What just happened?

And another one, from Derek's perspective. He's been entirely hands-off with her for weeks, building trust.

Building desire.

Entering their quarters, Derek found Kay dressed in jeans and a tight maroon tank top, her hands wrapped around a towel, drying her hair. She smiled at him and a low flush rose in her cheeks.

She’d run the Levels this morning, challenging the men with her presence. Daring them to stop her, to catch what was his.

“Kay.”

She paused, her fingers poised.

“Leave it. I like your hair wet.”

The girl blushed, then with her eyes locked on his, slowly unwound her hair and spread the dark strands over her bare shoulders. With the tip of her thumb, she caught an escaping droplet and used the small wet bead to moisten her lips, her gaze never leaving his.

Fuck.

Derek closed the distance between them with quick strides, curving one hand around her waist and sinking the other into her wet locks to tilt her face to his. Her eyes flashed and her fingers tightened against his shirt, pulling him closer.

He kissed her, forcing himself to be gentle, and she welcomed him with a low moan, her hands traveling up his chest and twining around his neck. Her body curved into his, pressing against his chest--his waist.

Fuck.

Not now, not like this.

Derek released her, then turned away to drive his clenched fists into the argyle bedspread. Behind him, he heard the girl take a jagged breath.

She had to come to him. She had to need him, or the weeks of waiting would be for nothing. When he had her submission, he’d have her allegiance, then his answers. And he’d have a skilled protégée at his side; someone who would kill for him, even die for him.

But fuck. One quick rip, and she’d be naked before him in seconds. He could be inside her in seconds.

“Derek . . .? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .” The girl touched his shoulder, her fingertips tentative.

He took a deep breath, then turned back to Kay--his girl, his prize. He didn’t have time to make mistakes with her.

Gently capturing her wrist, he brought her hand to his lips and gave her palm a soft kiss. She looked at him, then offered him a small smile.
 

pandaponies

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I. love. this. thread. I'm a HUGE sucker for kissing scenes, HUGE, and the ones in here are so good! I'm twisted and awful, I actually REALLY REALLY LOVE the really messed-up one, haaaaah. I just read the last page and am about to go back and read the whole thread, loool (edit: finished the thread! I have the only gays?! oh shit XD)

Because I'm such a sucker for them mine tend to be a bit long and possibly a bit dramatic/descriptive... but what the hell, I'll post one anyway since everyone else was brave enough to >___> This is their second kiss, the first one is in my head but not written yet since I skip around :p (context, Amy kisses Katie in the heat of a reeeaaallly emotional [in a bad way] moment, leaves immediately and then they pretend it never happened after. for probably... hm, a couple of weeks. only Katie obsesses over it the whole time. ..because she is neurotic as hell.)

[FONT="]Katie grabbed her wrist. “Amy, wait.”[/FONT]
[FONT="]
[/FONT][FONT="]Amy turned, eyebrows raised and head tilted. “Hm?” [/FONT]

[FONT="]Katie opened her mouth, froze, and shut it again. She had no idea what she wanted to say. Confusion and unease drew hard lines on her face. All she could communicate was one pleading look before she let the hand on Amy’s wrist fall. This was crazy. She regretted having said anything at all.[/FONT]

[FONT="]Amy stared. Her mouth softened and tentative understanding stirred in her dark eyes. She paused for a thousand years and then leaned in close, her gaze darting from Katie’s eyes to her lips and back to her eyes. Katie’s heart hammered in her ears at Amy’s fingertips on her cheek.[/FONT]

[FONT="]Their lips brushed so lightly she barely felt it at first. [/FONT][FONT="][FONT="]The kiss was chaste, reserved—guarded, almost. [/FONT][/FONT][FONT=&quot]A creeping paranoia whispered to her that Amy was only humoring her. Maybe everything between them had been all in her head, a fantasy her mind wove into her real memories under emotional duress. A muffled whimper slipped out at the thought.[/FONT]

[FONT="]The noise spurred Amy on. She backed Katie against the wall and pushed her mouth open with another kiss, this one deep and visceral. Katie melted into the rhythm, her fingers tangled in Amy’s hair. The kiss in the radio control room bloomed and became real again. She remembered Amy’s mouth, her tongue, the exact hitch of her breath in a detail too electrically vivid for any dream to fabricate. Teeth on her bottom lip sent a shiver racing through her bones. [/FONT]

[FONT="]She tilted her head back and gasped at the pressure of Amy’s mouth on her throat. She clenched fistfuls of silky black hair and dug her nails in. Kisses blazed down her neck to her collarbone and back up to her ear. Her head spun. Her breaths came ragged and shallow. [/FONT]

[FONT="]“Katie,” Amy whispered. Katie’s ear tingled under her lips. “Is this really what you want?”[/FONT]

[FONT="]Katie sunk back to look her in the eye. Something fragile glimmered in her expression. “I’m not sure,” Katie said, her chest heaving. “But I think so.” She wound a lock of Amy’s hair around her fingers and pulled her in by it to kiss her again. There was no going back now. This was etched into her like commandments in stone. She obeyed each touch, each curl of Amy’s tongue and the pull of her lips.[/FONT]
[FONT="]
[/FONT][FONT="]“It doesn’t even feel real,” Amy said on a break in the kiss, her voice high and thin.[/FONT]

[FONT="]“I know.” Katie rested her forehead on Amy’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”[/FONT]
Lesbian stuff is really annoying to write because of the pronouns, so I have to use names more often than I do with my straight couples, there isn't much getting around it but oh well.

*wrings hands* I hope it's okay .__.
 
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Niiicola

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I'm bringing this thread back from the dead once again :D

In this scene the MC and a boy are out on a frozen fjord under the Northern Lights.

As I climb off the snowmobile, the lace of my boot catches and unties.

"Hang on," I say, crouching, but the second I take my mittens off, my fingers seize up.

"Wow," I say. "They're like dead sausages."

Adam pulls off his gloves. "Let me."

Like a kindergartner, I stick my leg out, and he ties the lace easily. When I try to pull my foot back, he holds it tight.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey what?" With a mischievous grin, he tugs me toward him.

"Give me my foot back." I press my boot flat against his chest.

"Or else what?" Adam lets go of my foot and leans closer.

"I'll have to --" I can't think when he's staring at me, so close. Like I'm everything. I lick my chapped lips. "I'll have to kick your ass."

He kisses me and I inhale his breath and the cold.

"I shouldn't," I whisper, because I don't deserve this or him. He shakes his head and kisses me again, his tongue slides against mine and turns me electric, and nothing else matters, not my mom, not my aching guilt, not the fact that I'm about to whistle down the sky. There's only Adam. My head tips back and my hood falls off. The incandescent light from above streams through my slitted eyelids, the wind claws at my cheeks, and I don't care. For the first time in weeks, I just don't care.

But even kissing Adam can't save me from frostbite. He sits back on his heels and puts his gloves back on.

"So, uh, yeah." He pulls my hood back over my head. "Wow."
 
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This seems like fun, so I'll add mine too! My MC Alice is a little 'off' from drinking too much Faerie Nectar.

I moved closer, resting my hand on his knee, staring into his bright purple eyes. I touched my hand to his cheek once again, tingles rippling across my skin.
"Alice?" He asked, hesitating against my touch.
"Don't move," I mumbled, leaning closer.
I pressed my lips against his for a moment, and then pulled away. My lips prickled, a feeling I enjoyed.
Calder seemed startled, but didn't say anything as I looked at him once again. The paint on his face was distracting; it seemed to shift into different shapes every few seconds, but I ignored it as best as I could.
I leaned closer again, combing my fingers through his hair. The softness sent a shiver down my spine. My finger tips were starting to burn.
I looked down at his mouth that sat partly open.
Our lips slammed together.
He pulled away for a second, but I wrapped my arm around his neck and forced him back to my lips.
Calder tangled his fingers in my hair, forcing my face closer. Leaning my weight forward, I pushed him down.
 

Lady Esther

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Yay! After I posted that I had a moment of "oh no, what did I just share with the world?" so I'm glad you guys liked it.

Yes, that scene was amazing. I'd definitely read more.:D
 

IKnowNotmyName

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Don't let anyone else know, but I'm a sucker for romance.

Less than one second later, she and Kevin were kissing. Lilian didn’t know who made the first move. It could have been her, but she liked to think it was Kevin. In the end, it probably didn’t matter. All she cared about was the rising tide of joy that threatened to overwhelm her, of the contentment that made her heart feel at peace, and of the sweet, blessed relief that caused her body to relax against his.

His lips kissed her tentatively, shyly, more of an ephemeral caress than an actual kiss. Yet, after the initial second of lip on lip contact passed, Kevin pressed his lips against hers a little harder.

Lilian responded eagerly. Her arms around him tightened. Her body leaned further into his, wanting to get as much physical contact as possible.

A pair of arms wrap around her body. They felt strong and reassuring. Lilian couldn’t help but think they were made for this purpose, to hold her tightly.

When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their faces flushed and a mild sheen of sweat glistening visibly in the light of the moon.
 

Sage

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I'm trying to think of one kiss in this entire trilogy that doesn't end in a) disappointment, b) something disturbing, or c) sex.

Maybe there's a reason this is my first post in this thread...
 

Sage

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Okay, this is the first kiss in the trilogy
I turn back to him, bury my face into his shoulder, and begin to cry.

"Oh, Evie."

He wraps his arms around me tightly, wordlessly. He just holds me. It's all I need right now. He's solid and warm, and his arms are a comfort. Like no matter how much I might have lost today, I still have my best friend. I love him for it.

After a few minutes, I look up at him. I want him to make that hollow feeling in my gut go away. Softly, I say, "I think I liked being a superhero. I liked changing my body how I want. I was going to get to meet Ace."

He laughs, but it's dry, and his eyes don't match. "You can't fool me. This was all about Ace."

"Believe me, it's not about Ace," I whisper. I reach my arms around his neck and pull myself up to kiss him.

The kiss is awkward at first, as if our friendship has hooked our lips and is pulling them away from each other at odd angles so that they don't fit right when we finally get them together. But then we break away from those hooks, and we fit together just fine.

His lips are warm and comfortable, like his arms are, but I want more. I want a spark. I want to feel more than just safe. His hands stay firm against my lower back, and I wonder why they're not moving up to try for my bra or down towards my skirt. Aren't I hot enough for him?

I maybe pad my bra a little. Maybe let the hooks out on my shapeshifted bra. It's entirely possible I do these things and hook the belt loops in his jeans with my fingers, pulling him into me and stepping back towards the bed.

"Danny," I breathe between kisses. "It's okay."

I say this because I want it to be okay. I want this to be okay. I want to have a truly human moment, one where I'm not loved for being super or famous. One where I don't have to be heroic. One with the person who knows both sides of me and loves that I'm Evie.

And I know that Danny is that person.

I push him back against the bed so that he's sitting on the edge, then sit on his lap, my legs straddling his hips. I lean forward, and he kisses my neck. A shiver runs down my spine, but it's a good one. I want more.
 

Mamitt

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From my first ever WIP, who still is a WIP and may be indefinitely. The MC and her best friend is getting a little drunk on his mother's wine spiked with his father's expensive whiskey. The things we ingest when young:


We arrived at our destination, a dilapidated cabin, a fair bit into the woods. It was where we used to go when we wanted to be entirely by ourselves. No one else ever came there.
Along the west facing wall was a small bench where the sun would warm us during summer afternoons. It was close to night now, but the warmth of the day still hung in the air.
We sat there in silence for a while, sharing the bottle. I noticed he was drinking pretty hard, getting far drunker than me, and I wondered what was eating him. When the bottle was empty and the sitting still had turned our bodies cold, we decided to head back through the woods. As we got up, he lost his balance and fell towards me. I caught him, but he wouldn't be steadied. He stumbled forward until he had me pinned against the cabin wall.
I’d always imagined that some kind of instinct would kick in at this stage, but when he kissed me I had no idea how to reciprocate it. Afterwards I felt dizzy and light as air – a little foolish, but immensely happy. As first kisses go, I guess it was satisfactory.
But, the next time we met we agreed that it had been a mistake, he had been drunk and missing his holiday fling, I had been drunk, period.
 

Mamitt

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Okay, this is the first kiss in the trilogy
The kiss is awkward at first, as if our friendship has hooked our lips and is pulling them away from each other at odd angles so that they don't fit right when we finally get them together. But then we break away from those hooks, and we fit together just fine.

Good description, I think!
 

Channy

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[FONT=&quot][FONT=&quot]Levico, love it! The [FONT=&quot]world needs more fox love. (Oh w[FONT=&quot]ow, that was months ago.. lol) Great [FONT=&quot]kiss Sage, a nice blend of insecurity and comfort, like a lot of first kissses.

[FONT=&quot]Here's a kiss[FONT=&quot] scene for my two M[FONT=&quot]C's but doesn't actually take place in either of the planned novels but rather in the planned novellas [FONT=&quot]that show small snippets outside the main stor[FONT=&quot]ies. It's really the o[FONT=&quot]nly kiss to take place between these two so I[FONT=&quot] give it a little extra >_> [/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT]
[/FONT] [/FONT][/FONT][/FONT]
----

I’m always afraid to look him straight in the eyes. Afraid of what I’ve seen in the past; how they glimmer with glee at the sight of blood painted across the walls and bodies strewn like ornaments. Afraid of the condescension that mirrors back at me in my own inadequacies and self doubt. But mostly afraid of the pity. Since the uprising, his eyes wash over me at almost any opportune moment. He watches me in the house when I stare out my window at the rain; he seeks me out in the street if our signatures are within range of each other. But his eyes aren’t the same as they used to be. The fury and the hatred for Aria have been displaced by an unwelcome pity that follows me wherever I go. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
I don’t want to be pitied anymore. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]

But when our eyes meet, it’s not pity I find. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
His casually analytical amber glare blazes in the dim sunlight of the cramped room. Not with mercy, discontent or even the usual intensity. But a different kind of passion. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
Before either of us says anything, his mouth is on mine. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]His lips devour me, pressing forward with a new urgency I can't register. My mind hits a brick wall, unable to force its way through to make sense of the situation while my heart beats wildly, running in circles with heated desperation. My body follows my mind, freezing instinctively until I can only act through reaction to his motions.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
His hand slides from my chin to my cheek, visiting before it glides back and wraps into my entangled, wet hair. The other pushes on my hip, guiding my body around until it finds the wall. He pins me to it, my back pressing against the popcorn texture of the speckled wall. I groan against his mouth, pained by the subtle bumps in the wall rubbing against my burns, but unwilling to push him away. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
His hands run from place to place, never settling. He grips my waist, my neck, my shoulders. I flinch. The pain in my back and limbs from the sun is only amplified by the man who wields a torch within his fingertips. It's unbearable. But I don't want him to stop.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
Why can’t I move?[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
Fear grips my body, afraid that his touch will send fire across my skin and make my burns a million times worse. But it’s not his fire that brings me pain; it’s my own reluctance to enjoy his pyrexia. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
I will my hands to act, to lunge forward and tug him into my body. My back arches from the wall, mashing our chests together until I’m certain there is nothing[/FONT][FONT=&quot][FONT=&quot]–[/FONT]no air, no space, no doubt[/FONT][FONT=&quot][FONT=&quot]–[/FONT]between us.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
As if they behaved as one, our hands trace against the mirrored tattoos on our respective bodies. My hand brushes across something new on his body, one of the few insignificant flaws. The scar he gained across his forearm when he was in a brawl in The Burroughs, attacking just to defend me against humans. His body tenses at first by the touch, then eases when I move away from it. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
I feel hot and cold all at once. My insides twist and knot with apprehension at what these actions will do to us, chilling at the thought of some negative impact. My core freezes, untouched by emotion or sensation until he warms it, coaxing it to life with his fire. Every inch of my skin feels like it is burning, and I wonder if my body has somehow reached the same temperature that he always sustains. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
He finally eases away from me, his forehead pressed to mine as our breathes mingle as one.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
“Is this what they call passion?” I murmur. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
Across our noses I dare myself to look into his eyes. The flames flicker, ringed with bright yellow flecks and I watch them helplessly, like the white moth drawn to his fire. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
“Or is it instinct?” His lips brush mine briefly. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
His fingers trace sparks across my arms, outlining with fire. They leave my bare limbs and curl up against the sides of my face, entwining with the ends of my hair. My body feels so warm against his, and for the first time in years, safe. [/FONT]
 

Elizabeth George's book Write Away